


'Tis but a Scratch

by Dumbothepatronus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Toy Story Fusion, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Founders Era, Humor, Mystery, One Shot, POV Male Character, Romance, Short One Shot, Short Story, Unreliable Narrator, first person POV, salazar tries to jump into a giant toilet, toy story!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbothepatronus/pseuds/Dumbothepatronus
Summary: Salazar has awakened in a land of giants, where everything is wonky and even dogs don't appear to work properly. But no matter; Salazar has a plan--if only he can snap Rowena out of her funk first.
Relationships: Rowena Ravenclaw/Salazar Slytherin
Kudos: 6





	'Tis but a Scratch

The walls are thickened parchment. That isn’t a euphemism, much to my dismay. I miss the regal stone walls of Hogwarts castle, the lush carpets, the roaring fireplaces. Here, there are only patches of unidentifiable stickiness and windows drawn on with mysterious coloring sticks. (Rowena calls them “crayons”. I fear the worst for her mental state.) The giants must reinforce the buildings with magic—I’ve tried punching holes in them. They never budge.

Much like my body when the despicable tyrants appear. 

A shadow covers the bookstore, and dread fills me from the top of my shiny crown to the tips of my pointy shoes. I try to run but my feet won’t move; try to call out to Rowena, but my voice won’t rise. 

Fleshy fingers drop through the hole where the ceiling should be and close around my middle.

“Hi. I’m Salazar Slytherin, and I’m here to curse Muggles.” 

The giant speaks for me, and I wish I could scoff. I do not sound like that. She bounces my feet across the undignified floor of what is supposedly Flourish and Blotts, just like she always does. Past shelves of books, enchanted to look like long brown boxes with “crayon”-stick drawings scribbled onto the side. She hobbles me up to the front counter where Rowena stands with her pasted-on smile. I try to signal her with Occlumency, send her a message of solidarity. But where I should find Rowena’s mind, I find silence.

“Well, hello.” The giant makes Rowena sound squeaky, and frankly, it’s offensive. Rowena’s actual voice is deep like honey, smooth like butter. 

“I like your dress. It’s very blue.” 

It’s the same script she’s used all week, and it makes me want to vomit. The inept attempts at flirtation shame the Slytherin name.

“Want to kiss?” the giant makes her say.

“Ok.”

A hand on my back tilts me forward, presses my frozen lips against Rowena’s. It’s always the best part, the worst part, the most heart-wrenching part. My arms want to twitch, itch to throw themselves around her and run my fingers through her glossy black hair.

There’s a call from afar, a woman’s voice. The girl-giant shouts back, “I’m coming!”

Our bodies bounce against the brown parchment floor with soft thuds. The footsteps fade, and I crawl to my feet, brush out my robes, and peek over the counter. Rowena’s landed face-first. The monster’s haste has created both a disgrace and an opportunity. I rush to her side, and her hand is delicate in mine as I help her up. I don’t think it’s my imagination that it lingers a moment longer than necessary before she reclaims it.

“Cardboard isn’t precisely a hard surface,” she says, “but one of these days she’s sure to chip my plastic nose off.”

Cardboard? Plastic? I shake my head. “Are you injured, Lady Rowena?”

She stares into me with those startling blue eyes, full of mysteries and knowledge and secrets. Will this be our moment? Then she blinks, and the moment vanishes. “No, I’m fine, I’m—”

Three panting, furry dog heads burst through the parchment door, breaking it off its flimsy parchment hinges. 

“Fluffy! What have I told you about minding the buildings?” Rowena shoves his heads back through the hole and picks up the door. “This tape won’t abide your careless abuse forever. Adhesive has a shelf-life.” 

She presses her hands against the hinges until they stick, which is somehow enough to fix the ridiculous door in this ridiculous place. The sooner we escape, the better. I tap my pockets. Empty. “If I could locate my wand, we’d be free before the sun sets.”

Rowena rolls her eyes. “Even if you came with a wand, it wouldn’t do magic. I’m afraid the technology isn’t quite so advanced. Perhaps in another decade…”

Poor Rowena; she’s been here years longer than I, and it shows. I clear my throat. “No matter. After extensive contemplation, I’ve developed a fail-safe plan of escape. And it all begins with a single quest, departing immediately. Would you care to accompany me?”

Her expression shifts to a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Will you allow me to know the itinerary?”

“Can’t risk being overheard.”

“You do know that if she was in hearing range, you’d—” She shakes her head. “Nevermind. Lead the way.”

A giant pink tongue fills the cut-out window next to the bookshelves, licking the sill but leaving no moisture. I shiver; not only is magic broken here, but even the dogs don’t function properly. 

We leave the store behind, dysfunctional dog and unreadable books and all. It looks just as shabby from the outside, with its misspelled banner and drawn on shrubberies. Another door looms across the carpet, this one made of real, respectable wood, so tall it reaches the heavens. We peek around the doorjamb. Not a monster in sight. 

The door across the hall, thankfully, is already half-open. We sneak through the crack and are greeted with the scent of apples and exotic spices, and rows and rows of shiny blue and white tiles. 

“And how, pray tell, can a bathroom save us?” asks Rowena.

I grin. “The pipes. Hundreds of years after I hid the Basilisk in Hogwarts, one of my heirs developed a system, allowing it to slither through the indoor plumbing.” 

“Salazar hid a—” She presses her lips together. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. How do you know about pipes? They were invented hundreds of years after your death.”

“Do I look dead to you?”

Her answering sigh is belabored. “Must have been printed on your box.” 

The strange white stone pedestal seems like a good place to hide a pipe. I begin my ascent. 

It’s tricky to find footing; there are no footholds, no outcroppings. I’m surprised that sweat isn’t beading on my forehead. If I don’t manage it soon, Rowena will think me a fool.

My feet hit a solid ledge, and my heart thrills. It’s within reach now; just an inch farther. I push up, snatch the top rim with my fingertips and hoist myself arm over arm. Panting, I spin to announce my victory. 

And then I see it.

Rowena has pushed a cylindrical contraption against the side of the rock. Shows how much faith she has in me, that she can’t trust me to climb a boulder on my own. I huff. “I was nearly there; I did not require your assistance.”

“Of course not.”

My pride has taken its leave, deflating my chest, so I puff it back up with hot air. Slytherins are famous for that: not losing face, even in direct failure. “Regardless, I’ve found the pipe. It appears to connect to the pond in the center of this hollow boulder.”

A rather unladylike snort echoes off the lavatory walls. “You know what pipes are, but you have no clue about toilets? Someone ought to have a word with your box designer.”

There’s that gibberish again. She’s so far gone, she doesn’t even realize she’s not making any sense. “Never fear, my lady. I’ll be back before the sun sets.” 

I twist my hands above my head, readying myself for an elegant dive. 

“You’re not really going to—oh, Merlin. Stop! Don’t you dare jump into that toilet!”

It’s the sudden panic in her voice that throws me off, I swear it. Slytherins are trained to be attuned to a lady’s distress. If not for her, I never would have lost my footing. I wouldn’t have fallen down, down, down, and cracked against the tile.

And I never would have lost my arm.

For a moment, I’m too floored to blink. Too shocked to scream. A black sleeve with a black glove lies just beyond my reach, still as the grave. 

“Oh, Salazar. When will you realize how fragile you are?” 

Fragile? Fragile? Slytherins are never fragile. Slytherins never have their arms fall off because they hit the ground a little too hard. “I’ve had an epiphany,” I announce. “Figured everything out.”

“And it only took you a week. Bravo.”

Her sarcasm hurts more than it should. “These giants altered not only our magic, but our very bones. Once we escape, we shall bring the total power of our wands against them. I swear upon it.”

Rowena picks up my severed arm. For a moment I think she will cry over it, shower me with sympathy and concern. She doesn’t.

She swings it and slaps me across the face with my own hand. 

“What was that for?”

“For being an overall idiot. Open your eyes, Salazar! You. Are. A. Toy.”

Yes, these giants have made toys of us all, and it’s unacceptable. “Not for much longer. Being reduced to a single limb complicates matters, but I can still climb. If you hadn’t distracted me, we’d be riding out of here this very moment.”

“What, on the back of your Basilisk?" I don’t like the look she gives me; it’s too akin to pity and mockery. "It was funny at first, and I’ll admit I didn’t mind letting you play the fool. You think you’re such a prize, cleverer than magic itself. But you’re not so clever now, are you?” 

My disembodied hand quivers in the air next to my cheek. I flinch, but Rowena holds it steady. “I want you to touch your arm. What does it feel like to you?” 

This is some sick stuff. My fingers shake as they connect with my severed limb. It’s cold. And hard. Harder than flesh should be. “Enchantments. All enchantments.”

Rowena motions for me to spin. When my broken side is facing her, she steadies me, her hand on my shoulder. Despite the tension, my heart perks. She’s touching me, and not because she’s fallen, or because a giant made her. I’m floating. Mesmerized.

A sharp pain in my arm socket brings me crashing down. “Ouch! What possesses you to torment an injured man?”

“Clap your hands.”

“This is serious, Rowena. Can’t you see we’re in the greatest peril?”

“No. We’re not.”

“Can’t you see the giants have compromised our very nature?”

“They really haven’t.”

“That in order to defeat them, we must work together in complete cooperation?”

Something sparks on her face—something beautiful. A slow, genuine smile. “So you admit you need me?”

I’ll admit anything if she’ll keep looking at me this way. I step forward, and she doesn’t step back. 

“I need you like a goblin needs gold.” Another step. Our toes are touching. 

“Like King Arthur needs Excalibur.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and she doesn’t flinch. 

“Like—” My hands meet behind her back. Both hands. 

She smirks. “You just noticed, didn’t you?”

“How did you—how is this possible?”

“For me to reattach your arm? I told you. Toy.”

My arms drop, and I stare at my fingers.

“Let’s return to the bookshop. I’ll explain everything.”

Flourish and Blotts never looked more suspicious. If not for enchantments, how did it come to be? How did I come to be? One thing’s certain; the blood my father taught me was noble doesn’t flow through any veins of mine. It would have spilled when I lost my arm.

The front wall of the bookstore makes a soft tapping sound under Rowena’s fist. “You see? It’s cardboard.”

This does nothing to clear my confusion. “You keep using that word. I do not understand what it means.”

“A child made this, Salazar. A child whose parents love the Harry Potter books very much took a piece of trash and drew on it with crayons, cut it up with scissors and called it a bookstore. None of it is real.”

“Those coloring sticks?” I know about those. Scissors, however, remain beyond my comprehension. “Who is Harry Potter?”

Rowena throws up her hands in frustration. “Oh, for the love of—that wasn’t on your box, either?”

“What box?”

She pulls me into the bookstore and runs her fingers over the frozen shelves. “Books. Salazar, you know what books are.”

“Yes…”

“Harry Potter is a character in a book. He’s not real. We are also characters in that same book. Someone… a Muggle, I suppose, made those characters into action figures for children.”

“Action figures?”

“Dolls, Salazar. We are children’s dolls. We come in boxes from toy stores. When a child buys us, we wake up. That’s why you don’t remember it. We awaken only with our personalities, our personal histories, and whatever is written on our boxes.”

I stare at my fingers. A toy. Not real. Oh, the shame of it. The shame of it all.   
I was never any Slytherin. All my pride—all my glory—amounts to nothing. The only thing that’s real is Rowena, Fluffy, the giant that owns us and the memories we share. 

Eons seem to pass before I find my voice again. But through it all, Rowena stands regally, patiently, a pillar of grace. I think I know the answer, but I must ask: “That’s why there’s no magic?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But the wands—”

“There’s none of that magic. But the fact that I’m standing here, staring at you with eyes that see and talking to you with lips that move?”

Yes. Those eyes and those lips do possess their own kind of magic. And doll or not, I thirst for it. My fingers find that delicious spot in the middle of her lower back. I drop my borrowed Slytherin pride, just for now, and grin like a child. “Want to kiss?” I ask.

There is mischief in her smile. “Ok.” 

It is a thousand times sweeter kissing her without someone else’s hands at our backs. My heart soars above the clouds, above the moon. Maybe it’s not so terrible, living among giants.


End file.
